


The Lost City

by starrynoctsky (lightinthehall)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Atlantis AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightinthehall/pseuds/starrynoctsky
Summary: He crouches closer – close enough that Ignis sees the ocean blue of his irises start to light up with a vivid violet. “Don’t move. This’ll be quick.”The man presses a firm hand over the wound, the very same blue-violet glow emanating from his palm, lighting up the breath of space between them.(an Atlantis!AU)





	The Lost City

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Salt for being my wonderful, amazing beta. <3
> 
> And thank you to Shell for the beautiful art! After my twitter ramblings, she had drawn Noctis in *that* outfit. I'm so grateful for her indulging me! (link in the end notes because slight spoilers).

_Drat_.

He coughs, wiping a gloved hand across his brow, eyes stinging from the dust and mud. Ignis gropes blindly amongst the debris until his hand brushes against his pack, and then – _oh thank the Gods -_ his glasses. Wiping the lens off as best he can, he squints through the cloud of dirt for the rest of the crew.

He’s alone. The others must still be above him somewhere.

They’d made it to the edges of the wildlands where the land suddenly dropped into steep cliffs and jagged rocks, when an Imperial magitek engine suddenly appeared, raining bullets down on the party, forcing them to take cover. The ground beneath Ignis had given way in the attack. 

He seems to have landed on a much lower platform jutting out from the cliffs, with a single path sloping downwards. Stepping closer to the edge, he sees the faint shape of a winding river and the dark smoke billowing from the unmistakeable wreckage of Imperial machinery. _Ah, so they managed to dispatch the air ship._ Looking up hopefully for his companions, all he sees are the purple-orange hues of the early evening sky. He’s tempted to call out to the rest of the crew, but he doesn’t want to risk another landslide.

Ignis sighs, attempting to dislodge bits of rock from his short, dirty-blond hair, giving up on keeping his bangs out of his eyes. He’s lucky he hadn’t slid right off into the ravine, but he still takes a moment to resent that the two days-old layer of grime on his skin is now encased in rapidly drying mud, and the indecent way his shirt hangs open from the loss of his top two buttons. One could barely make out the striped pattern of the shirt anymore.

_If Uncle saw him now…_

Though. If his Uncle _did_ see him now, Ignis could just imagine his excitement. _If the Imperials are here, there must be a reason_.

_Why guard a centuries-old ruin of your defeated enemy?_ _What are they hiding?_

New hope springs to life in Ignis’ chest. Whatever it is they’re guarding, he’s going to find it.

He gathers his canteen, lantern, and shoulder bag, all thankfully still intact. It takes a few tugs to dislodge the mud stuck in the zipper teeth of the bag, but it opens. Ignis pulls out his notebook and flips through the pages, relieved to see the yellowed-pages of his research has remained mud-free.

A flash of blue slips from the pages, and Ignis catches the flower as it flutters down. Caressing the flat bundle of smooth petals, he carefully presses it back between the pages. It’d been a surprising find in the desert-like environment that makes up this part of Lucis, but he’d found larger and larger patches of them growing the closer they got to their destination. Their roots are stubborn, and it’s a mystery how they survive the heat, but the beautiful dark blue of their petals are like nothing he’s seen back home.

Should their expedition fail, at least he’s found a potential new ingredient.

_It won’t fail_ , he resolves silently. This is his one chance. Rich benefactors don’t stumble into the university every day to hire Lucian history graduate students to assist them on expeditions. The man may be eccentric, but Izunia had access to resources – crew, equipment, money – that Ignis would never have been able to acquire on his own. The thought of discovering nothing but mud and rubble, then returning to his lonely Lestallum flat is painful.

Climbing up or down the steep cliffs is not an option, and the path behind him is blocked by boulders, so Ignis proceeds ahead. If the rest of the group has managed to stay together, he assumes Glauca will find a way to continue to the bottom of the canyon as they’d discussed.

Occasionally, his eyes are drawn to the high, barren plateau across the chasm. If only they could commandeer an airship of their own, they could survey the land from the sky, but the idea is far too dangerous. Not to mention the magitek would be unfathomable to operate. He’s only seen their technology during Imperial public reports playing on his university’s fuzzy, black-and-white screens. Niflheim is full of metal and machinery, technological advancements they’ve ensured would not trickle down to Lucis.

Ignis freezes when a stream of stones suddenly rolls down from the cliffs above, bouncing off the ground in front of him. Flattening himself against the wall, he peers up but sees nothing. 

_Likely just unstable ground from the landslide earlier._

Estimating he’s about halfway to the bottom, his most pressing concern is the encroaching darkness. He removes the Lestallum lamp clipped to his side pocket, and with a quick flip of the switch, illuminates the area around him.

This had been one of his better ideas while working at the faculty. He’d lent his design to the power plant to aid their maintenance workers journeying from station to station, but this particular lamp is his new design. Portable, efficient, and equipped with a special lens that can focus the light’s intensity.

Along the newly lit path, he spots a small, sheltered alcove ahead. As he approaches on aching legs, a piece of rock glints oddly in the lamplight, catching his eye.

It’s no bigger than a Leiden potato but upon lifting it, weighs heavily on his palm. Its surface is shiny but dark, almost black, smooth except for a symbol carved onto the stone. He runs a finger along the unnaturally jagged edge, as if it’d been broken apart. Ignis’ eyes widen.

He sets down his pack and his lamp, and quickly pulls out his notebook, flipping a page back and forth to compare two diagrams.

“ _That’s it_ \- ”

“- Don’t move.”

Ignis whirls around and the edge of a blade is pressed to his throat, and he drops everything in shock. The voice is masculine – young – and the man stands slightly shorter than Ignis, with a dark, hooded cloak shadowing his face. Ignis curses as he realizes his daggers are in his pack, out of reach.

“Who – “ Ignis grits out, tamping down the panic rising within him, eyes darting around for an escape route.

“Don’t,” the man warns again. Hands out in surrender, Ignis allows himself to be backed into the corner. As they move, the lantern’s glow reflects off the golden clasp of the man’s black cloak to reveal an ornate, winged skull, and Ignis’ eyes widen in recognition.

“No, wait –“

Suddenly, a blinding spotlight swings into the alcove, and the man freezes long enough for Ignis to knock the blade away. On instinct, he shoves the stranger to the ground just as the Imperial drone’s machine gun fires bullets into the wall above them. Rocks rain down, collapsing the entrance to the alcove, dust and stone fragments falling down on them, the cavern shaking with every impact.

The barrage of bullets ceases, and the cavern settles. Ignis doesn’t dare move while the spotlight eerily shines through the gaps between the rocks. Finally, the alcove darkens, and Ignis’ rushes out of him in relief as the rumbling of engines fades away.

_“Titan_ ,” the man hisses. His lips are close enough to brush Ignis’ ear, and belatedly, Ignis realizes he’d saved the man only to crush him with his weight instead.

Mortified, he lifts himself up onto his elbows before sharp pain sparks down his left arm, and he cries out as he crumples forward. Hands shoot up to catch him by his upper arms, maneuvering him until Ignis is sitting up against the wall. 

When the man stands to retrieve his blade, Ignis ducks his head, bracing himself for the finishing blow. He’d been foolish, and now he’s incapacitated at the mercy of his enemy.

“You’re hurt.”

The young voice holds a note of worry and guilt, no longer heavy with the threat it carried earlier. Finally chancing a look, Ignis realizes that the object in the man’s hand is not his dagger, but Ignis’ fallen glasses.

With his good arm, he reaches out to accept them, clumsily settling them back onto his nose, the world coming back into focus. Glancing up again, Ignis’ reluctant ‘thank you’ catches in his throat. The man’s hood had been displaced in the fray, revealing a pale, heart-shaped face, full lips, and a mess of short black hair. His eyes are dark, yet the blue in them shimmers in a way that reminds Ignis of the sea that surrounds Galdin at night.

There’s a quiet _click_ and the cloak slides off slim shoulders and – _oh._ The man is wearing a peculiar dress: a strapless top consisting of silky black cloth stopping short to expose the smooth skin of his toned stomach. The black skirt wraps around the man’s small waist, draping asymmetrically over his bare, slender legs. Thin sandal straps wrap around the man’s foot and calves, accentuating delicate ankles.

Ignis’ face heats, and he attempts to will himself under control. _Why is he reacting this way?_ The women from Lestallum are just as free with their attire, but as a gentleman, he’s never taken to ogling them like this.

Loud tearing noises fill the cavern, drawing Ignis out of his indecent thoughts.

The man has his discarded cloak in his hands, ripping it into strips.

“What are you doing?” Ignis asks, bewildered.

Pulling a flask from his own bag, Ignis watches as the man pours a small amount of silvery-blue liquid onto the torn cloth.

Looking at him pointedly, the man approaches cloth in hand and begins dabbing at the wound on Ignis’ shoulder. Ignis expects it to sting, like the way antiseptics in the first aid kits do, but instead there’s only a cool, soothing sensation. The impromptu rag comes away bloody.

“No bullet, must have been a rock shard that nicked you,” the man declares. He crouches closer – close enough that Ignis sees the ocean blue of his irises start to light up with a vivid violet. “Don’t move. This’ll be quick.”

“What-“

The man presses a firm hand over the wound, the very same blue-violet glow emanating from his palm, lighting up the breath of space between them.

Ignis is so entranced he doesn’t notice the pain in his shoulder steadily dissipating until the glow fades completely, leaving the two of them in the soft yellow light of Ignis’ lamp once again.

He lifts his fingertips to the torn gap in his shirt in wonder, feeling smooth skin where he’d been cut open and bleeding.

_Impossible_.

“Gods, Gladio is going to kill me,” the young man groans as he picks up his blade and his bag. He slumps down the wall a few feet from Ignis with a sigh, and with a flick of his hand, the dagger disappears in a flash of sparkling blue light.

_And they had the ability to summon and banish weapons at will_. With his Uncle’s words whirling through his mind, he stares at the space the sword had disappeared from. How many times had he heard that story when he was young? The healing magic, the dispelled weapons, the skull symbol…

“Are you…”

The man turns to him, eyes wide with realization at what he’s just done.

“…a _Glaive_?”

His mouth falls open in shock, and it’s all Ignis needs as confirmation.

“I knew it. You’re from Insomnia,” Ignis continues excitedly. Then under his breath, “It still exists. My Uncle was _right_. It still exists.”

“My name is Ignis Scientia,” Ignis says breathlessly, jumping up to grab his fallen notebook and flipping past the first dozen pages covered in neat crayon words before stopping. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m travelling with a group of researchers looking for the city of Insomnia.”

He points to the page where he’d taken notes from an Imperial textbook, as the man looks on interestedly. “Everyone’s been taught that two hundred years ago, during the Great War, Insomnia had been besieged and destroyed by the Empire. Thus, the complete victory of the Imperial army over Lucis had been reached.”

Ignis flips to a page where two names at the top branch off into another series of names and branches.

“My Uncle told me, that ahead of the final battle, Cilian Scientia warned his wife Emilia to leave Insomnia with her son. At first, she’d fled to Lestallum where she’d begged her relatives to look after her boy and returned immediately to Insomnia to help Cilian. But by the time she got there, her husband, and Insomnia, were gone.”

“So, what the Empire said was true,” the man says, slowly, waiting for Ignis to refute him.

“But was it?” Ignis asks, gaining steam. “Emilia swears that she saw a bright light engulf the city, and then, nothing. _Nothing_. No smoke. No fire. No ruins. Nothing. Where had all the people gone? How does an entire city disappear without a trace? Even the Empire doesn’t have that kind of technology.”

“Ever since then, the Empire hasn’t allowed anyone remotely close to these lands. And they’ve been careful to destroy and erase any trace of the old Kings, and Insomnia from our history books. They attacked us just now, guarding supposedly empty land, but why?”

“And look at this.” Ignis finds the rock he’d been holding before the man had found him. “This is a piece of adamantite. You can’t find this anywhere in the world apart from two places: The shell of an adamantoise – or, as stated in the records of early Lucian history, as a component of Insomnia’s Old Wall.”

“You think they’re hiding something,” the man concludes.

“Exactly. They’re afraid someone will find the truth. It’s been so long, most of my family have written off Emilia’s words as delusions of grief. Without proof, or access to any knowledge, many Lucians have forgotten as well. They don’t even remember we were once ruled by Kings,” Ignis says, bitterness tinging his words. In all the texts he’d studied, he found only hints and allusions to the ancient royals. While the rest of the world seemed content to believe what the Empire has told them, Ignis just can’t let it go.

“How did you know it was true?” the man asks curiously.

Ignis smiles when the glaive doesn’t try to deny it.

“I didn’t…” Ignis admits. “But my Uncle would tell me the stories – how the royal family had powers beyond imagining, strong enough to keep daemons at bay; how they shared it with their Glaives so that they could protect the people.”

“Heh. You make it sound like a fairytale,” the man says in an odd tone – Ignis senses some amusement, a hint of sadness.

“It’s more than that,” Ignis replies heatedly. He closes his notebook, clutching it tightly. Within it lies all his research, all the stories he’d learned as a child, and all the scraps mentioning the lost Crown City he could find. Sometimes, the thought of miracle magic and kings had been the only light he could cling to.

He would stare out at the sky above Lestallum, wishing he could see the stars despite the bright anti-daemon lights covering the city. At one point, Lucians didn’t have to worry about daemons, or the scourge, or the Empire. At one point, they’d been safe, and the world had been filled with wonder and magic. He’d wanted to believe in that so badly.

And now…

“Listen, Ignis…” The glaive stands. “I’ll help you find your companions again, but I can’t take you to Insomnia.”

It’s like the air in the world disappears all at once, leaving Ignis dizzy. The man looks sad. Apologetic, even. “What? No… no, you must.”

“It’s forbidden. You have to go home.”

Home? That near-empty apartment that housed his bed? His frame-less walls and his work-laden desk? _No_. He’s _so close_ to what he’s been searching for his whole life. Ignis grabs the man by the arms, and shakes him once, book tumbling from his hands.

“ _Please_.”

The glaive breaks free of Ignis’ hold easily, sparing him a regretful look as he bends down to pick up the fallen notebook.

He gasps. “This is –“

Numb, Ignis stares as the man touches the black cover embossed in gold. It’s an image Ignis has secretly carried with him since childhood, an elaborate shield underlying the symbol of the ancient God, Bahamut, with fifteen swords fanning out towards the edge.

Sensing his chance, Ignis explains, “My Uncle says that symbol had been found on one of Cilian’s cloaks. He’d managed to replicate it onto this book, as a gift to me, before he passed.”

The Insomnian is quiet, contemplating the symbol before glancing up again at Ignis’ pleading gaze. He holds out the notebook, blue eyes intense and startlingly beautiful in the lamplight, and Ignis’ heart skips a beat when their hands briefly meet upon the cover.

“…look, I can’t promise that they’ll let you stay.”

Relief and joy flood him. “That’s enough. Thank you –“

The man smiles at Ignis for the first time, soft and sweet, and the fluttering in Ignis’ chest starts up again. “Noctis.”

Ignis returns the smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Noctis.”

0-0-0

After freeing themselves from the small cave-in, Noctis leads Ignis through a series of passageways. Noctis is surprisingly limber, jumping up onto ledges and leaping to higher platforms easily, pausing to extend a hand to Ignis.

“Done this before, have you?” Ignis asks dryly as he releases Noctis’ hand. It’s properly dark now, but it doesn’t seem to bother Noctis or falter his footfalls. Just in case, Ignis makes sure to light their way with the lamp.

“Once or twice.”

Noctis doesn’t elaborate on himself very much. As far as Ignis has learned, the glaive is two years younger than him, and enjoys fishing. Ignis resists the urge to ask all about Insomnia, sensing the man is still hesitant to bring him there.

They decide to take a short break upon reaching a small chamber with a few rocks arranged in a circle around the burnt out remains of a campfire. Moonlight shines through an opening high in the ceiling. Noctis settles on a wide, flat rock, curling up on its surface like a cat, seemingly falling into an instant nap. Ignis sets the lamp down in the centre and takes a seat on the next rock over before digging through his bag for a wrapped package.

He unwraps a large fan leaf, revealing four bulette skewers.

The meat is seasoned simply, using the few spices Ignis had brought or encountered along the way. They’re leftover from Crowe and Nyx’s latest kill, and he’d combined them with a few of the Leiden peppers he’d gathered. They’re cold now of course, but hopefully the leaves have managed to prevent them from drying out too much.

It’s a meagre offering, but Ignis holds two out to Noctis who’d been stealthily eying his food. Noctis immediately sits up to take them.

“Thank you.”

“They’re just leftovers, but –“

Noctis eats with gusto, the oil of the meat smearing across his lips, and Ignis ignores his own food to watch him. He notes with interest that Noctis purposely avoids the peppers stuck between the meat pieces. Noctis’ manner is a tad unrefined, but his enjoyment plays favourably on Ignis’ ego. Apart from when he lived with his Uncle, and his recent journeying with the research group, Ignis has cooked for himself for most of his life. He created dishes that pleased him, but now he finds the reactions of others quite addictive.

“They’re really good,” Noctis says.

“It’s nothing,” Ignis says. “I didn’t have most of my preferred ingredients. If you ever come to Lestallum, I’d be happy to cook you a proper meal sometime.”

Noctis nods, a strained quality to his smile. Ignis flushes with embarrassment. Of course. Why would anyone from Insomnia want to come to _Lestallum_?

“So, what’s Lestallum like?” Noctis asks, with an overemphasis on the first syllable, pronouncing it as ‘ _Lay_ stallum.’

“It’s… hot. And busy. Many people travel there for the markets,” Ignis says, recalling the sprawling stalls in the middle of the city that he’d often buy ingredients from. “And with the power plant, it’s safe.”

“Safe?”

“The facility produces electricity, so the city is covered in lights, even at nighttime. Daemons rarely ever get close.”

Noctis gets quiet again, frowning with a faraway look in his eye. Ignis wonders how much of what he’s saying makes sense to Noctis. Insomnia is probably a completely different world. He wonders how they can even be speaking the same language. Though Noctis’ accent differs, his modern Lucian is perfectly understandable. Ignis had expected the languages to have deviated at some point over the centuries. Perhaps Ignis could ask for access to the library of Insomnia once they arrive.

“How do you fight them? The daemons? What about the people who don’t live in Lestallum?”

“Many people have learned to fight, if purely for self-defence. The Empire also promises some level of protection, but we’ve learned not to rely on their assistance. Towns that don’t have consistent access to lights don’t last very long, I’m afraid. The rates of Scourge sickness are higher in those areas as well. Many have… been lost since Insomnia fell.”

Noctis’ brow furrows, and he turns away from Ignis, but not enough to hide his troubled frown. “That… that’s awful. I wish…” He trails off, before gesturing at Ignis’ lamp.

“Does everyone have one of those to keep the daemons away?”

“This?” Ignis lifts it higher. “I’m afraid not. We don’t have the technology to mass produce them yet. I’ve designed a portable power source from a meteor shard but –”

“ _You_ designed this? It’s… genius,” Noctis says, expression openly awed. “This could help a lot of people.”

Ignis coughs, pleased, flush spreading down his neck. “Ah, well… that’s kind of you to say, Noctis. I hope that one day it can be utilized more widely.”

They reach the mouth of the cavern, and it’s Ignis’ turn to be awed. Across from them is a magnificent bridge. Large portions of it have fallen apart but it remains an impressive feat of architecture. Even from this distance, Ignis can make out some of the grand details of each supportive arch, the larger-than-life stone impressions of the Kings and Gods. The bridge stands incredibly high, connecting the land of Lucis to where Insomnia once stood, backlit by the blanket of stars in the night sky.

“We’re almost there. But this is one of my favourite views,” Noctis says, eyes alight with a quiet happiness.

“It’s beautiful.” Ignis catches himself, turning back to the stars and clearing his throat. “I think I can see the Infernian from here.”

Noctis turns to him with a slightly alarmed look on his face. “What? Where?”

Ignis laughs. “Apologies. I meant the constellation.” Setting the lamp down, he steps closer to Noctis, standing behind him to align their points of view. He points towards the sky. “See the spear on the fourth arch of the bridge? It points right to the highest tip of the Infernian’s left horn.”

From there, Ignis draws out the Infernian’s crown, then the other horn, guiding Noctis’ eye. “Do you see it?”

“Sort of. It’s not really what he looks like in the paintings.”

“Constellations aren’t an exact art. But I enjoy them all the same. It’s… comforting to see the same patterns in the sky. Though I’ve never seen them quite so well before. They’re amazing.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says softly, smiling at him. Ignis is suddenly very aware of the warmth of Noctis’ body against his front, and of how much he wants to lean into it. He’s saved from embarrassing himself when Noctis moves away. “Come on, we shouldn’t stay out in the open for too long.”

0-0-0

After a series of stone steps, they arrive at the base of the ravine, the rushing waters of the river behind them. Noctis leads him to a gap in the cliff wall, imperceptible at any other angle, especially from the tops of the cliffs where they’d originated.

The passage is narrow, sloping downwards, and Ignis’ heart pounds loudly in his chest with each step they take. They travel even further underground, the occasional torch lit with blue flame lighting their path.

“I’m going to have to take you to see d- uh, the King first,” Noctis explains, fingers twitching nervously. “It’d be best if we could sneak by the gate too. They’re not big on outsiders.”

Ignis nods. _Whatever it takes_.

“Ready? I’ll make sure they’re not looking, and then we run for cover.” Noctis pulls his cloak and hood back over himself, checking around the corner before grabbing Ignis’ hand and running across to the next wall.

They clear the wall, and Ignis runs with Noct. He chances a look over his shoulder and his eyes widen, mouth falling open as he gets his first real view of Insomnia. Noctis pushes him into another gap between two stone walls, raising a single finger to his lips.

Ignis continues gaping, overwhelmed by the sight of towering buildings, the intimidating skyline rising above a broken stone wall. All within a gigantic dome of magical blue light covering the city.

_Insomnia_.

_He’s finally here_. Ignis’ vision blurs, and he lifts his glasses, wiping his sleeve hastily over his eyes, grateful for the distraction of a small crash of crates to his right.

Noctis has climbed the rampart and is holding his hand out to Ignis once again.

“Let’s go.”

Together, they climb the wall, and Ignis sees the guards down below, standing lazily by the gate. They’re dressed in full uniform, not at all like the revealing outfit Noctis is wearing. Confused, Ignis turns to Noctis, who is gesturing him towards the edge of the blue force field.

Standing this close, he feels a strange hum vibrating just below his skin, reminiscent of strong electrical currents.

“Noctis?” Ignis asks uncertainly. Noctis’ cloak and hood flare out with a sudden force as he presses a hand against the magical wall. Beneath his hand, sections of the wall start to disappear, like a disintegrating honeycomb.

“Quick!” Noctis jumps through the gap, and Ignis follows suit, the exposed skin on his arms buzzing as they pass the edges of the blue barrier.

They stumble as they land on the other side, Noctis catching him as his momentum tips him over. He’s laughing, and Ignis can’t help but think it’s a wonderful sound.

Bursting out of the storage room, they run down the hall, past some guards who call after them. Almost immediately, Ignis is besieged by the flashing lights and loud sounds of the city: busy, overwhelming, and beautiful.

“Welcome to Insomnia,” Noctis says, waving a hand.

The billboards _move_ , shifting brightly in colour as the large images displayed change and shift. There are crowds of people on the other side of the plaza, sitting on the grass, ordering food at colourful, metallic stalls. And there are cars _everywhere_ , an endless stream of them rushing past them. Ignis can see the road leads straight to a tall, majestic building, its two towers stretching high above the rest of the city.

_The Citadel_.

Insomnia thrives. Safe and whole.

_He’s finally here._ His eyes sting once again, and he has to blink the tears away, completely overwhelmed by the sudden emotion.

“Thank you, Noctis,” he says. “Truly, I couldn’t –”

“Your Highness,” a stern voice from behind them says. “Please step away from the outsider.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of questions to be answered! What happened to Insomnia? Why is Noctis wearing *that*? 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Twitter: [@starrynoctsky](https://twitter.com/starrynoctsky)  
> & Shell's art of Noctis: [HERE](https://twitter.com/InkyCarbuncle/status/1143246235874185216?s=20)


End file.
